


One and Only

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Caring Greg Lestrade, Ficlet, First Time, Flirting, Hotel Sex, M/M, Sex, Super fluffy ending, Teasing, Virgin Mycroft Holmes, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: Halfway through sex, Greg realises he's taking Mycroft's virginity.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 15
Kudos: 249





	One and Only

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet started life as part of my ficlet collection. It's now been expanded a little, fluffed up and sent out into the field all on its own. Let me know if you ever find it wandering somewhere it shouldn't be (i.e., anywhere away from AO3).

A few glasses of wine in a hotel bar are all it takes to tip  _ want  _ into  _ need.  _ They've been circling each other for weeks, flirting and eye-fucking, daring each other in silence to do something about it. Greg holds his ground, determined not to take the bait. If Mycroft wants it, he can come and claim it.

And in the end, he does.

_ "Have you any plans for this evening, inspector? Perhaps you'd care to join me for a drink…" _

The hotel bar that Mycroft suggests is the absolute epitome of chic. Everybody here is rich and gorgeous, but none of them hold even a flicker of interest for Greg. He's too busy undressing Mycroft with his eyes, flirting so outrageously he's in danger of setting off the fire alarms. Mycroft's pupils grow and grow until only the thinnest fuzz of blue-grey remains in his eyes. They drink and purr and test each other, teasing, coaxing—and in the end, Greg supposes he'll just have to be a gentleman.

"Getting kinda noisy in here," he husks in Mycroft's ear. He brushes the pads of his fingers over Mycroft's wrist, offering a sample of his slow and lazy touch. "I wonder if the rooms upstairs are nice."

They pick up a key from the desk, then take a lift ride in sizzling silence. The room door isn't even locked before Greg slams Mycroft up against it. Mycroft rips his shirt in an effort to get it off. Greg doesn't care. Before he knows it, his back hits the bed and they tear into each other, skin on skin, grinding together and panting as they kiss. They smash through foreplay like a speeding train, moaning and gasping and snarling. This is the wildest thing that Greg has ever done. The divorce only signed off officially last month, and now there's this, and it's perfect and it's everything. Mycroft groans his name, clawing at his back, hissing with ragged pleasure as Greg teases him with his fingers. The just-in-case condom from Greg's wallet is retrieved. 

Mycroft nearly drags Greg inside him, grasping at his lower back with both hands—and in the shock of it, the sudden pounding reality of it, they find themselves eye to eye across an inch of space. Mycroft swallows; the muscles in his throat all shift. His face tightens at Greg's first firm thrust, his mouth opening. Shock and relief flash through his expression—shock, relief, and something else, something in his eyes. It's in the way they reach for Greg's, searching for momentary reassurance that the intensity of this sensation is normal. The tiniest little flicker in his face gives it away. This isn't just pleasure. It's new pleasure.

The realisation hits Greg like a jet of water.

"Is... is this your first time bottoming?" he asks.

Mycroft's eyes shutter a little, displeased for it to be noticed. "I'm perfectly alright," he says, breathless. "Please carry on."

The lack of a direct answer reminds Greg rather guiltily of Sherlock—and sparks a second, much more startling suspicion. For a second, Greg is certain that it can't be true. He then revisits Mycroft's shocked and heartfelt moans at almost every stage of the proceedings, the way he shuddered to the core when Greg first began to lick his cock. He sees Mycroft's coy and kittenish flirting over the past few weeks in a wholly different light.

_ Holy shit. _

Then it's true. Mycroft is in his late forties, and this is it. The first time.

And it's Greg.

Shocked to the core, Greg can barely get the words out.

"Jesus," he breathes. "You're a virgin, aren't you? Holy shit. Why didn't you say?"

Mycroft's fingers twitch a little at Greg's shoulder, another flutter of annoyance passing through his face. "Please stop reminding me and do something about it."

_ Christ alive. _ Greg would have moved slower, if he knew.  _ Maybe too slow,  _ he thinks wildly, wondering if he'd even have dared to go there. He hasn't taken someone's virginity since sixth form. He didn't imagine that he'd ever be having the privilege again.

But here they are, Mycroft breathing hard underneath him, his thighs tensing a little either side of Greg's hips—wanting to continue. Wanting to fuck. If he's taken four decades to make this choice, he won't have made it lightly. Greg doubts that Mycroft Holmes has ever made a reckless decision in his life.

He stirs his hips a little, checking this is okay—if Mycroft is definitely sure. 

Mycroft's body stiffens gently and he moans. 

_ "Oh," _ he lets out on his breath, tipping his head back against the pillow. Pink flushes across his cheeks. He's enjoying it. He bites his lip a little as Greg moves inside him, looking more relieved than a man just rescued from the gallows. "Oh, fuck. Oh, thank God."

Greg's heart pounds, overwhelmed by the sight.  _ You picked me,  _ he thinks. _ You waited all this time, then you waited until I was divorced. You wanted it to be me. _

"We're staying here all night, okay?" he says. He leans close, nuzzling at the pink in Mycroft's cheeks. "We'll do this properly. You should've told me. I'd have—"

"—run a hundred miles," Mycroft gasps, gripping Greg's shoulders. He groans as Greg pushes back inside him, panting the words out. "Or treated me like glass. Worried and fussed instead of fucking me. Don't you dare stop."

_ God.  _

"How about I fuck you twice?" Greg offers, rubbing the sides of their noses. "Seeing as we're here for the night. Make up for lost time."

Mycroft lets out a huff, his eyes flashing with pleasure and reluctant amusement. 

"Very well," he agrees, winding his fingers through the back of Greg's hair. They share a slow kiss, restless and rough, broken only by the need to breathe. "Now do it like you mean it, will you?" he pants against Greg's lips, stirring. "I've waited long enough."

Greg grins from ear to ear. "What happened to 'please'?"

"Please, Lestrade. Please awfully." On Mycroft, even the sarcasm is attractive. "I'd be ever so terribly grateful."

"Let's go with 'please, Greg', shall we?" Greg says, still grinning. "I think this puts us on first name terms."

Mycroft acquiesces with a smirk.

"So be it. Please, Greg." He steals a hopeful kiss from Greg's mouth. When he speaks again, his voice holds a single note of softness which Greg absolutely can't resist. "Please."

Greg hooks a gentle finger beneath his chin.

"Kiss me properly," he whispers. As their lips meet, he rolls his pelvis forward. Mycroft lets out a breathless moan that Greg will treasure.

They leave the hotel early the next afternoon, bright-eyed and still wearing last night's clothes. They stand close together as they wait for a taxi—teasing, flirting, murmuring little comments in each other's ears—then head to Mycroft's apartment in Kensington. They stay there until half past eight on Monday morning; Greg returns that very evening at nine.

Three years later, with their wedding day marked on the calendar, a smirking Mycroft deletes a particular joke from the drafted speech of his groom-to-be.

"We're not sharing that part of the story, are we?" Greg teases, nuzzling into his fiancé's neck.

Mycroft chuckles, richly amused. "Darling... even if I permitted it to be told, I doubt whether our guests would believe you."


End file.
